


Going Once

by Nightwang



Series: SladeRobin Weekend 2020 [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Day 1: Highest Bidder, M/M, Panic Attacks, Rape Aftermath, SladeRobin Week, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23825800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightwang/pseuds/Nightwang
Summary: Slade hasn't attended an auction in years, but apparently this year there's going to be something...special.For the SladeRobin Weekend prompt Highest Bidder.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: SladeRobin Weekend 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716694
Comments: 62
Kudos: 361
Collections: SladeRobin Weekend 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty graphic so be careful! If I've forgotten any tags let me know :)

Slade didn’t usually go to these events. He had no real desire to mix with the kind of people they were aimed at and, frankly, he had better things to be doing with his time. He was only here now because he’d heard that there was going to be something _special_ and, well, colour him interested. Interested enough to show up at least.

Leaning casually against the back wall, he scanned the huge room for anything or anyone that could potentially become trouble. Slade had only been to a couple of these in his time, but he was sure that this was the biggest crowd there’d been. They were crammed in like sardines, jostling and muttering excitedly. Even still, they were giving Slade a wide berth, a little pocket of space.

The only other empty space in the room was the stage. A clear delineation between the audience and the auction. Small and only slightly raised, but enough that even from his position at the back, Slade could still see it clearly.

The crowd was getting restless, the muttering now an impatient chatter that was grating on Slade’s nerves. Just as he was considering that maybe this wasn’t worth it, a woman stepped out onto the stage. All eyes were immediately on her as a hush fell over the room. Amelia Hart, the event runner, Slade recognised her from the few times he’d attended before.

She was a commanding presence, even Slade could admit that, tall and conventionally attractive with a confidence that rivalled Slade’s own. She spread her arms out to encompass the entire crowd and smiled.

“Welcome everybody!” She paused to scan the audience, her gaze catching on Slade and lingering for just a moment. “We have a treat for you tonight! I know you are all excited to see what surprise we have in store, but you will just have to wait until the end.”

She gave them a mischievous smile, dark eyes glittering and the crowd responded, swelling with anticipation.

“In the meantime we have some lovely pieces to auction off. First up this genuine Ming vase.”

Slade tuned her out. He wasn’t interested in whatever trinkets they were auctioning off. He watched the audience instead. Most of them were nobodies, new money with more cash than sense. Some though, Slade recognised. Drug kingpins and “business men” who’d gained their wealth through more...nefarious methods. Not a single honest person in the entire building.

Slade was forced to amend that statement as the last item was announced and an annoyingly familiar vigilante was dragged onto the stage. 

Slade stiffened, pushing away from the wall. Nightwing had obviously been drugged, skin pale and sweaty, jaw slack but Slade could tell that he was coming around quicker than anticipated. He could see the subtle twitches of muscle under Nightwing’s scandalously tight suit as he tested the restraints.

The audience was silent for a moment before they burst into a flurry of cacophonous excitement. Amelia was playing up to it, twisting long fingers into Nightwing’s hair and pulling his head back to reveal the long expanse of his throat.

Her expression was one of smug satisfaction, almost gloating. Slade clenched his fists against the sudden surge of possessive jealousy.

“I knew this would get you all excited,” she laughed, winking at the audience. “This is your chance to find out who Nightwing _really_ is,” she teased at the edges of his mask and, even drugged, Nightwing reacted, jerking his head back to snap his teeth against her fingers.

She snatched her hand back, her lip curling in anger briefly before suddenly remembering the audience and turning to smile widely at them.

“He’s a bit feisty, but I’m sure you’ll be able to handle him, and, well,” she stroked a hand across his tense shoulders, curled her fingers around his throat, “he’s pretty easy on the eyes.”

A ripple of laughter, some low murmurings of agreement. Nightwing’s jaw clenched.

“How about we start the bidding at a million.”

Slade’s wallet was about to take a very nasty hit. One billion to be precise. Slade knew that Harry Roswell at least would have kept bidding - had a personal grudge against Nightwing - but Slade has glowered him into submission. Dick Grayson was _his_ and he’d be damned if he was going to let someone else get their hands on him.

They’d dragged Nightwing off stage and then Amelia had taken Slade’s arm and directed him into a back room.

“We’ve secured your purchase in the next room for you,” she met Slade’s gaze, “you are, of course, free to make use of the room if you wish. Or you can leave with him now. We can provide sedatives, for an additional price.”

“That won’t be necessary.” He stood, sweeping past her to push the door open.

“Take your time,” Amelia said as his hand closed on the doorknob. “Enjoy.”

Slade grunted in reply, stepping into the next room and closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sight that greeted him sent a rush of heat straight to his groin. Nightwing was chained spread eagled across the bed, completely naked except for his mask. His head snapped to Slade immediately, face set in a snarl.

“My, my, don’t you make a pretty picture,” Slade purred, leaning back against the door with a smirk.

“Very funny Slade,” Dick snapped. The drugs had obviously worn off. He was alert and flushed an angry red as he tugged viciously at the chains. “Get these off me!”

Slade hummed, tilting his head. “You’re not acting very grateful here Grayson. If it weren’t for me anyone could have found out your identity. Why don’t you say thank you.”

Dick scowled, gritting out a “Thank you,” that sounded rather more like a _fuck you_.

“We both know that I’m the lesser of two evils here. I already know your identity _and_ I’ll let you go...eventually.”

They both knew that he was right. Slade could see it in the slump of Dick’s shoulders, the tension in his jaw. He stalked over to the head of the bed and ripped the mask off of his face none too gently.

“How’d you even get into this mess kid?”

Blue eyes blinked up at him. “It was a mistake. It won’t be happening again.”

Slade traced a finger gently across the red mark left by the mask almost absentmindedly, enjoying the uncomfortable look that flickered across Dick’s face.

“Slade,” he said, low and quiet. A warning. Not that he was in any position to be making threats. “Unchain. Me.”

Soft skin beneath his fingers, the burning, steady gaze. Slade couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this turned on. His armour was uncomfortably tight.

“I don’t think so,” he breathed out, savouring the look on Dick’s face - anger and underneath, a sort of uncertain fear. “I paid a lot of money for you pretty bird, I’m going to get something out of this.”

Dick’s eyes widened, his face twisting up and then Slade’s fingers closed around his throat, squeezing. Dick made a choked noise, his mouth opening instinctively, and Slade couldn’t help but lean down and seize that wet, pink mouth for himself.

It was like sparks across his skin. He groaned as Dick wheezed, squirming, and slipped his tongue into Dick’s mouth, licking into the heat of it. His fingers tightened convulsively and then Dick was biting down, blood spilling into both their mouths.

Slade jerked back at the sharp pain of it, releasing Dick who gasped in a desperate breath. He looked wild, chest heaving, eyes wide and blood on his lips.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dick croaked. He twisted against the chains but whoever had secured him had known what they were doing. These weren’t some low grade handcuffs you could just slip out of, they were heavy duty manacles, locked tight around his wrists. Dick wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m taking what’s mine.”

“I’m not yours!” Dick gasped, panicked. Blood trickled down his arm from beneath the manacle but he didn’t seem to notice. It was like watching a pinned bug, trying to flap its wings and escape, but only hurting itself further.

“For now? You are.” Slade brushed a thumb across Dick’s lips, smearing his own blood into the plush skin and Dick jerked his head away with a snarl. Undeterred Slade smoothed his hand downwards, across the flat planes of his chest, rolling a nipple between his fingers. It hardened beautifully beneath his touch. Dick hissed out an angry breath.

“I always knew you were gorgeous, but seeing you like this…” he flicked the nipple and whistled lowly.

“You’re a sick fuck,” Dick spat, “I never thought you’d stoop this low.”

Another flick, another angry hiss, like a cornered cat, or a snake before it struck. “Trust me,” Slade said, “I’ve gone much lower than this.”

If looks could kill Slade would have already been six feet under. As it was he only smiled indulgently and slid his hand lower. Dick sucked his stomach in instinctively, and Slade pressed down on it, feeling the soft give of flesh over muscle. He pressed harder until Dick made a pained noise. The sound of it went straight to Slade’s cock.

He stripped his armour off briskly, but left the clothes underneath. No longer constrained, he reached down and palmed himself, heat curling low in his gut. Dick was watching him, his face pinched, like he’d sucked on something sour. Slade’s cock throbbed.

There was a key to the chains on the desk. Slade picked it up and deftly unlocked the manacle on Dick’s left ankle. As soon as it fell away Dick kicked out, aiming for Slade’s face. But he’d been ready for it and with his other limbs still immobile Dick couldn’t get the proper leverage. He caught the ankle easily and folded his leg down until it was pressed against his chest in a position that looked uncomfortable, would probably be painful for anyone else.

It opened Dick up nicely. Slade pressed in against him, his weight trapping the leg and also forcing a startled breath from Dick. Slade rubbed his still clothed dick against him and enjoyed the brief flicker of panic that Dick wasn’t quick enough to hide.

“Get off me,” he grit out from between clenched teeth. Slade rolled his hips, wanting to get completely naked, to stretch out across Dick’s body and feel all that bare skin against his. But also enjoying the rush of power he felt, fully clothed whilst Dick lay naked beneath him, vulnerable.

Slade couldn’t help his groan, pressing his mouth against Dick’s collarbone. Dick grunted, trying to push his leg out from under him, squirming deliciously.

Despite what Slade had said, he’d never actually raped anybody before. Had never felt the need to hold someone down and force himself on them. And when he’d imagined fucking Dick it had always been consensual. He’d never expected to like this so much. Hadn’t expected the thrill at having Dick so helpless beneath him.

He reached between them, tugging his waistband down just enough to pull his cock out, hissing out a breath as cold air hit his overheated skin. He rutted forwards, his cock sliding across smooth skin and Dick jerked like he’d been struck.

“Slade please,” he said, desperation in his voice like it had only just hit him that this was really happening. Slade bit gently at his shoulder, sucking in a mouthful of flesh. He wanted to mark him up so that he’d never forget that he belonged to Slade.

More squirming, Dick’s voice louder, higher. “Please don’t do this!”

Slade shifted, pressing his hard cock against Dick’s limp one and lifted himself onto his elbows so he could look at Dick’s face.

“You beg so prettily,” he purred, thrusting down so that Dick was jolted across the sheets, the chains rattling. Dick’s face was a picture - desperation and animal fear.

Slade didn’t know what his own expression was, but Dick blinked at it and pressed his lips into a thin line, resignation and then a deep, primal anger igniting in his eyes.

“You’ll regret this,” he said, voice low and trembling. Heat prickled across Slade’s skin.

“I doubt that.”

He bent back over him and bit a deeper mark into the junction of neck and shoulder. Worried at it until Dick made a pained noise and then positioned himself against the soft heat of him.

Dick tensed, inhaling sharply. Slade pulled back enough that he could watch Dick’s face as he pushed in, see the pain and horror and disgust before Dick ground his teeth together, and squeezed his eyes shut.

It was tight. Tight and hot and _so good_ and Slade couldn’t hold himself back from thrusting in hard, the dry friction almost painful.

Dick made a gasping, whining noise and then clenched his jaw so hard Slade was surprised he didn’t crack any teeth. Slade pulled out, pushed back in, groaned at the heat - the electric spark up his spine.

“Good,” he heard himself say, smearing the words into Dick’s skin, and was met with a breathless sob.

His hips were moving on their own, picking up speed. Heavy thrusts pushed Dick into the bed, jolting his body roughly, and Slade could feel a wet heat around his cock as something presumably tore. Dick choked out a cry and the sound spurred Slade on, urging him faster, harder.

The bed was hitting the wall with every thrust, the sharp bang accompanied by breathless noises that were being punched out of Dick. Slade was panting harshly, his own moans falling unbidden. He buried his teeth into Dick’s skin until he bled, over and over, the metal tang only heightening his pleasure. Dick was trembling beneath him, like a bird beneath a cat’s paw.

It rushed up on him, took him by surprise. He buried himself deep, held himself there as he came harder than he ever had before, his nerves singing.

Dick whined as Slade slumped down onto him, panting into his sweat slicked skin. Slade waited until the pressure around his softening cock became uncomfortable before pulling out and sitting back, surveying the mess he’d made of Dick.

He was pale and shaking, his face wet, and his eyes were still scrunched up. He was breathing heavily through clenched teeth, and he was covered in blood. It was dripping down his arms, painted across his neck and chest from the bites, smeared over the pale skin of his inner thighs. When Slade went to tuck himself away there was blood on his cock and speckled across his trousers.

Slade hummed, reaching forwards to brush his fingers over one of the deeper bite marks, still sluggishly bleeding. It was going to scar he noted with satisfaction and a warm, curling pleasure. Dick jerked at the touch, and finally looked at Slade, eyes bright against his washed out skin. Slade lifted his hand and licked Dick’s blood off of his fingers.

“Why?” Dick managed to croak out. He probably wasn’t thinking straight. Slade was a villain, and he’d never made his attraction to Dick a secret. The vigilante should have expected something like this.

Slade grabbed the leg that was still tucked up to his chest - now probably stiff and cramped in position - and tugged it straight. Dick groaned, his leg kicking reflexively but Slade pinned it to the bed.

“Why not?” He shrugged. “I want you, and this was the perfect opportunity to have you.”

Dick’s eyes were shiny as he looked away, his arms going limp in the chains. Slade bent and pressed his mouth against the soft skin of his throat, savouring the frantic flutter of his pulse. Then he pulled back and stood, moving away from the bed to pick up the key to the chains.

Dick watched him warily as the manacles dropped away, wincing as he pulled his arms and legs into a foetal position. Slade tutted and tugged an arm towards him to examine the damage to his wrists, rubbed raw and bleeding.

“You’re a mess kid,” he dropped the arm, and Dick pulled it against his chest, cradling it to him.

“Whose fault is that?” He hissed, glaring at him. Slade was glad to see that the kid still had some fight in him.

“Yeah, yeah, come on pretty bird let’s get out of here,” he stooped to pick him up bridal style and Dick gasped in surprise, shuddering at the contact and twisting away instinctively. He cried out as he fell back against the bed, squirming to get away from Slade.

“I can leave you here, if you’d like,” Slade growled, knowing that he wouldn’t. Dick was coming with him whether he liked it or not.

“I can walk!” Dick snapped, struggling into an upright position. He grimaced, panting, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress tight enough that his knuckles went white. Then he pushed himself up to standing on shaky legs.

“Where are my clothes?”

Slade shrugged, pulling his own armour back on. Dick scowled and wobbled forward a step, turning his face away too slowly to hide his wincing.

“I don’t have time for this,” Slade knocked Dick’s feet out from under him, catching the back of his legs and lifting him into his arms. Dick squawked and flailed against him. Slade could feel the sticky slick of blood where his arm was cradled under Dick’s thighs.

“Put me down!” Dick hissed, squirming angrily, but Slade was ready for him this time and clamped him tight against his chest. “Stop- stop touching me!”

As though Slade hadn’t already touched him, hadn’t claimed his body. Slade scoffed, gripping him tight enough that Dick let out a soft, pained breath.

“Settle down kid, I’ve had my fun,” he carried Dick over to the door, jostling him around so that he could pull it open. One last glance back at the blood-stained sheets sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. And then they were out of the room.

Amelia was nowhere to be seen, but her guards were everywhere. Dick was tense and shaking in his arms, his hands covering himself, and he flushed at the weight of their gazes. Slade bared his teeth at them, his gut heating with possessiveness, but also underneath, a smug sort of satisfaction. They could all see the mess he’d made of Dick, the claim he’d bitten into his skin.

He was glad he’d brought a car and not a bike as he leveraged Dick into the passenger seat. Dick winced as his ass met the leather, shifting in a vain attempt to get comfortable. He should have put a towel down Slade mused. Blood was a bitch to get out.

The area Slade intended as a drop off wasn’t far away. He sent the coordinates to a number he knew would get picked up by the Bat. He had to time it right so that he wasn’t there when Batman showed up but also so that there wasn’t enough time for anyone else to get their hands on Dick.

He pulled Dick out of the car and pushed him down to sitting - his back against a tree - tying his hands behind the wood with rope. Dick made a protesting noise, his knees curling up against his chest. The rope had to be hurting his wrists but his expression was fierce as he glared up at Slade.

“You can’t leave me here like this.”

“Sure I can. I sent Bats a message, he’ll be along soon.”

Dick‘s face pinched, his lip curling. “I meant- I don’t want them to see me like this, I need some clothes.”

Slade smirked, reaching down to cradle Dick’s jaw in one big hand. He looked down the length of his exposed body, causing Dick to shudder and draw his legs closer to him.

“I think you’ll be just fine like this.”

Something flashed in Dick’s eyes, his expression strained.

“Please,” he said and the desperation in his voice was so similar to how he’d sounded as he’d begged Slade to _stop_ that it sent a pulse of heat straight to Slade’s groin. He was surprised to find himself half hard in his armour. He was almost tempted to untie Dick and just take him with him, to keep him for himself, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of an angry Bat on his tail, or trying to keep a determined Nightwing for any amount of time.

“See you soon kid,” he said, enjoying the look of defeat on Dick’s face. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get another chance to have some _fun_.”

Dick spat at him, eyes bright with fury. Slade only laughed and bent down to press one last, lingering kiss against Dick’s lips, his hand tightening on Dick’s jaw to keep him in place.

It was hard to pull away but the pay off would be worth it. Now there would alway be a little part of Dick that was his and, more importantly, Batman would _know_ , would see it written all over his body.

When he got back in his car the smell of sex and blood still lingered, stains streaked across the black leather. He started the car, watching Dick through the rear view mirror. He’d visibly deflated as soon as Slade was out of view, face crumpling in a moment of vulnerability that Slade knew he wasn’t supposed to be witnessing.

And then Slade got to watch as it hardened, going carefully blank just as a black figure appeared in his mirror. Batman turned to Slade’s car and caught his gaze in the reflection. He started towards him - radiating dark fury - before freezing as Dick said something, his cape sweeping out to block Dick from Slade’s view.

He’d seen enough anyway. Batman would take Dick home and fix him up and Nightwing would be back on the streets in no time at all. Slade felt a low curl of satisfaction and anticipation heat his gut. The next time he saw Nightwing, he was going to have some _fun_.


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce’s knuckles ached from how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. He was driving recklessly - too recklessly - but he couldn’t help it. He needed to get back to the cave fast. He kept glancing at the back seat where Tim was sitting with Dick, whispering to him quietly.

God, Dick, his _son_. He’d been expecting something bad as soon as he realised that it was Slade Wilson who had sent the coordinates, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Dick tied to that tree, naked and bleeding.

And Slade had been watching. Had just fucking sat there like he hadn’t just stomped Bruce’s world into the dust. Bruce hadn’t felt such a sudden, overwhelming desire to hurt someone - to wrap his hands around their throat and squeeze - since he’d found Jason’s broken body in the rubble of the explosion. The thought made bile surge up his throat and he swallowed heavily. Now wasn’t the time to throw up.

Dick had called his name and Bruce couldn’t leave him there, hurt and vulnerable, to chase after Deathstroke. He’d untied him and wrapped him up in his cape and he’d carried him back to the Batmobile despite his protests.

Red Robin had been waiting at the car, like Bruce had told him to. _Stupid_. Bruce couldn’t believe he’d forgotten Tim. He should never have brought him along, should have radioed back and told him to go ahead to the cave, but he’d been so caught up in the horror of finding Dick that it had completely slipped his mind. Tim had gone pale, shock clear on his face and Dick had hissed out an angry noise, looking at Bruce with such _betrayal_ that his breath had caught in his throat.

Still Bruce was selfishly glad that Tim was here now, still pale but talking quietly to Dick, hands clenched tightly on his thighs. Dick hadn’t said anything since they’d gotten back to the car. He was holding Bruce’s cape tightly closed, his knuckles white, and he was turned away from Tim, staring out of the window. Bruce was worried about how much blood he was covered in, and the fact that his usually chatty son was so quiet.

“We’re almost home,” Bruce said. Dick flinched, his eyes flicking to meet Bruce’s in the mirror. His chest clenched at the blank look on his son’s face. Tim reached out hesitantly to touch his shoulder but snatched his hand back when Dick visibly startled.

Bruce put his foot down, focusing back on the road, his whole body tense. He’d never made it back to the cave so fast. The tires squealed against the floor as he braked hard and by the time he was out of the car Alfred was already there, hurrying over with shock on his face.

“Master Bruce is everything-“

Bruce didn’t know what his expression was but it pulled Alfred up short, his mouth pinching. Tim had climbed out behind Bruce and was trying to gently coax Dick out of the car. Bruce watched for a long moment before he strode round to Dick’s door and pulled it open, catching him as he pitched sideways. Dick shuddered in his arms as Bruce lifted him to his chest.

“Alfred,” he said, and he could hear the desperation in his voice.

“Set him down over here.”

Dick whimpered as Bruce lay him down on the cot. The sound broke Bruce’s heart. Dick looked like he was going into shock, skin pale and clammy, eyes wide, sweat beading on his forehead.

“What happened?” Alfred asked, trying to tug the cape away from Dick’s death grip. His voice was as frantic as Alfred got, his eyes sad and face drawn as he looked Dick over.

“Slade,” Bruce hissed. The name tasted bitter in his mouth. His hands clenched into fists. Tim made a soft, strangled noise beside him.

Bruce reached over and gently peeled Dick’s fingers away from the cape. His son was shaking, dragging sharp breaths in between clenched teeth.

“Dick,” Bruce said, his voice strangled. “Alfred’s just going to have a look at your injuries, okay?” He pulled the cape away gently and Alfred was already there, laying a blanket over Dick’s lap.

God, it looked bad. Wet blood was smeared across his neck and chest and across his thighs where lurid purple bruises were already blooming. Alfred wiped a damp cloth across his throat, trying to get a clearer look at the wounds and Dick flinched, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Is that- are those bite marks?” Tim said beside him, his voice shaking. Dick’s hand shot up to grab onto Alfred’s wrist. Bruce started forwards, but Alfred held his other hand up to stop him.

“Master Dick?” Alfred said, gently. Dick blinked up at him, eyes wide.

“Alfred? What-” He looked around and noticed both Bruce and Tim, his face falling.

“Maybe you two should wait somewhere else hm,” Alfred said, gentle but firm. Bruce hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Dick now, but... Dick had flushed red with embarrassment, his gaze falling to where the blanket had rucked up on his thigh.

Bruce turned and walked over to the lockers, Tim following, and started pulling off the Batman suit mechanically. Neither of them said anything, and in the quiet of the cave they could still hear Alfred’s soft voice as he talked to Dick.

Bruce couldn’t bring himself to leave the cave, not when his son was hurt, but he stayed out of the way, sitting down at the Batcomputer and bringing up another case that he’d been working on. Tim leaned over the back of the chair, his hair falling into his face.

“Bruce-”

“What’s your opinion on this witness statement,” Bruce interrupted. Whatever Tim had been about to say, Bruce didn’t think he could listen to it. Not now, not yet. Tim gave him a look, his eyes dark against his pale skin, but he relented with a sigh, leaning further over to get a good look at the screen.

Eventually Tim went upstairs with a heavy “Call me if you need me.” Bruce slumped forwards with a sigh, rubbing his temples.

“Master Bruce.”

He looked up in surprise, he hadn’t heard Alfred come over.

“Alfred, is everything...okay?”

“We should call Dr Thompkins,” Alfred said quietly. Shock pulsed through Bruce at the words, terror squeezing his chest tight.

“His injuries are that severe?” He tried to sound professional, detached, but he knew he’d failed when Alfred’s face softened.

“No, no don’t worry,” he said quickly, “it’s not the severity of his injuries but rather the nature. I can’t-“ he broke off, his shoulders slumping. He ran a hand over his face and Bruce was surprised to see it tremble. He felt like an idiot all over again. Alfred was like a grandfather to Dick, had helped raise him since he was a boy. It had to be hard for him to see Dick like this, and having Alfred treat his wounds would probably be awkward and embarrassing for Dick.

Bruce stood and laid a hand on Alfred’s shoulder. His throat was tight. “Why don’t you go and call Leslie, I’ll keep an eye on Dick.”

The relief on Alfred’s face was almost painful to see. He hurried off as Bruce moved back over to the cot. Dick didn’t look up at him. He was staring at his lap, picking at the edge of another blanket that Alfred had draped over his shoulders.

“Hey Chum,” Bruce said. Dick looked up then, and Bruce was surprised by the _anger_ in his gaze.

“I don’t need a lecture Bruce.”

“Wha-”

“I know I messed up okay, I think I’ve learnt my lesson.”

Bruce’s stomach churned, something hot and ugly clawing its way up his throat. Was that really what Dick thought of him? That he would give him a lecture at a time like this? That Bruce thought so little of him?

“God Dick, that’s not- why would you say that?”

Dick’s face was sullen, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I fucked up Bruce, I let myself get captured.”

“You didn’t…fuck up,” he said, he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “And even if you had that doesn’t mean you deserved _this_. This wasn’t your fault.”

He lay a hand on Dick’s shoulder and let out a relieved sigh when Dick didn’t flinch.

“I don’t- I didn’t think he would do this,” Dick said, the words so quiet that Bruce almost didn’t catch them.

“What Slade?” Bruce asked, surprised. He knew that Nightwing and Deathstroke had some kind of history, and Dick always tried to see the best in people in a way that Bruce never could. He also knew though, that Deathstroke had always been...interested in Dick.

He ground his teeth together hard, turning his face away so that Dick didn’t catch his expression. Bruce should have taken it more seriously. He should have done something before this happened.

Dick grimaced at the name, pulling the blanket closer around him. Bruce’s eye was drawn to a bite high up on his neck. It was deep, still bleeding sluggishly. It would probably scar, and whilst his Nightwing suit was high enough to cover it, he wouldn’t be wearing high collars all the time. It was going to be a permanent reminder. His fists clenched hard enough to pop.

“I know it’s stupid.”

Bruce pushed the hair back from his forehead and Dick shut his eyes, curling forwards slightly. “It’s not stupid, Dick. I think it’s admirable that you choose to see the best in people. Even those who don’t deserve it.”

Dick tipped over to lean against Bruce’s stomach, gripping onto his shirt. Bruce’s hand came up automatically to cradle his face against him. It reminded him of when Dick was small, after a nightmare, and Bruce had held him until he had calmed down.

They stayed like that for long enough that Bruce’s back started to hurt from standing in the same position. A polite cough behind them made Dick startle and pull away. Bruce let him go reluctantly.

“Master Bruce, Master Richard, Dr Thompkins is here.”

Bruce turned around and Leslie was standing beside Alfred, her gaze on Dick.

“That was fast,” Bruce said. Just how long had they been standing there for? “Thank you for coming Leslie.”

“It’s not a problem,” she said, setting her medical bag down. “I was actually in the area anyway for a home visit. Alfred let me know what was going on, why don’t you two go upstairs, I’ve got it handled.”

Bruce caught Dick’s eye. He smiled shakily and waved him off. “I’m fine Bruce, go on.”

He relented with a grunt, shooting a meaningful look at Leslie, who just rolled her eyes. As he moved away, something caught his eye. His cape, balled up on the floor next to the cot. He picked it up as he left, gripping it hard between his hands.

The blood didn’t stand out against the dark material, but it wasn’t only blood that was streaked across it. Bruce’s grip tightened enough that if the cape had been normal fabric it probably would have ripped. This cape wouldn’t be getting washed. No. It was going to be burnt.

*

Bruce woke with a start. He was slumped over the desk in his study, a blanket draped across his shoulders, no doubt from Alfred. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep. How long had it been? Was Leslie still here?

The door creaked open and Alfred peered around, his face softening when he saw that Bruce was awake.

“Alfred, what’s happening?”

“You were exhausted, Master Bruce, so I let you sleep here. I was just coming to get you for breakfast.”

Breakfast? Jesus. “Dick?”

“He’s already down there with Master Timothy and Master Damian. We’ll be expecting you shortly I hope.”

Bruce nodded, and Alfred let the door shut with a click. How had Bruce slept through until breakfast? He rubbed a hand over his eyes with a sigh. God, Dick had needed him and he’d just...fallen asleep.

He pushed away from the desk, straightening his clothes. He was oddly nervous about going down to breakfast. Dick was already there, but, how was he going to be? And Damian, he didn’t know, had thankfully already been in bed when they brought Dick home. He had some kind of presentation at school, he recalled, and Alfred had made him go to sleep early. Would he notice that something was wrong? Would he ask? Would Dick tell him or not? There were too many variables that Bruce couldn’t account for.

He pushed those thoughts aside as he entered the kitchen. Whatever happened, Bruce would just have to deal with it, one step at a time.

His boys were sitting around the table in various states of disarray. Damian, fully dressed and presentable in his school uniform, was scowling as he ate his pancakes with a knife and fork. Tim, in just boxers and a ratty sleep shirt, was curled over his mug of coffee, blinking blearily up at Bruce.

“Morning B,” Dick said brightly, through a mouthful of cereal. He looked...fine. He was wearing sweatpants and a long sleeved sleep shirt - when normally he would just wear boxers - and there were squares of gauze taped over his throat and peeking out of the neck of his shirt, but otherwise he looked normal.

“Morning,” Bruce said, automatically. He sat down between Tim and Damian, feeling oddly wrong footed as Alfred pushed a plate in front of him. It was almost like yesterday hadn’t happened except… He couldn’t help but shoot little glances at Dick, his eyes caught on the innocuous patches of gauze. They were covering the bitemarks, he realised, his stomach curdling.

Dick caught him looking, and his expression soured, the corners of his mouth turning down. He didn’t say anything, only shovelled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth and chewed angrily. Bruce took a bite of his own breakfast, but he could barely taste it, his stomach gurgling protestingly.

“Master Damian, if you don’t hurry you’ll miss your presentation,” Alfred said, breaking the weird tension that had fallen over the room. “And Master Bruce, you have a meeting at Wayne Enterprises.”

He’d forgotten about that. He was tempted to reschedule, to stay at the manor and maybe talk to Dick, but he knew that Dick would take it personally. He would just get annoyed that Bruce was skipping work for him.

“Good luck on your presentation Dami,” Dick said, reaching over to ruffle Damian’s hair. He ducked away with a huff but Dick just smiled and let him go. Bruce stood, laying his own hand on Damian’s shoulder.

“Yes, good luck Damian. Tim get some sleep, you look like you need it,” Tim grunted in reply and Bruce hesitated, his gaze falling on his oldest son. “Dick, are you staying?”

Dick looked up, surprise softening the lines of his mouth. “Yeah B, I’ll stick around for a bit. Gotta hear how Dami’s presentation goes right?”

That was all Bruce needed to hear. Dick would still be here when he got back, and Bruce would get a chance to talk with him then. He smiled, and Dick’s lips curved up to match.

*

It turned out that Bruce wasn’t going to get a chance to talk to him after all. Work had overrun, considerably, and by the time he made it back to the manor he was already late for patrol. Both Tim and Damian were suiting up when Bruce got down to the cave and he hurried to join them, quickly pulling on his uniform.

When he looked up Dick was there, zipping his suit up his back. He’d obviously gotten changed in private because Bruce hadn’t seen him when he’d come down. The suit was mostly done up, but not all the way, and the collar was hanging loose, a strip of gauze peeking over the top.

“You’re not coming,” Bruce said, perhaps a little too harshly. Dick looked up in surprise.

“Uh what? Yes I am.”

“No. Go back upstairs.” He tried to soften the words, but he was wearing the cowl so they came out in his typical Batman growl. Dick straightened, a stubborn look in his eyes.

“Why the fuck would I not be going on patrol?” Dick said, anger clear in his voice.

“You’re injured.”

“I’m _fine_. You can’t stop me going on patrol Bruce, I’m not a child and I’m. Not. Injured.”

Bruce couldn’t help it. His gaze strayed to the gauze taped on Dick’s neck. Dick stiffened, his mouth flattening into a thin line.

“Fuck you Bruce!” He snapped, tugging his suit the rest of the way up. He put his domino on and then stormed over to where Damian and Tim were watching, wide eyed and stiff.

“You’re patrolling with me Robin,” Dick said, grabbing Damian’s arm and steering him over to the bikes. “Let’s go.”

Neither Bruce nor Tim stopped them.

“That went well,” Tim said once they were out of sight. Bruce sighed heavily, worry twisting in his gut like a rope.

“Come on,” he said in lieu of a reply, climbing into the Batmobile.

*

They were halfway through an uneventful patrol when Robin’s voice came over the comm.

“Batman, we’re on 5th Avenue, requesting backup.” Damian was all business, but Bruce could hear the wobble in his voice. His chest clenched painfully.

Red Robin looked up at him, and even with the mask on Bruce could read his expression clearly, the worry in the wrinkles on his forehead and the pinched set of his mouth.

“We’re on our way, what’s the situation?”

“I don’t- I don’t know, there’s something wrong with Nightwing.”

Bruce’s stomach dropped, his heart hammering against his ribs. In seconds he was flying over the rooftops, Red Robin hot on his tail.

By the time they reached 5th Avenue, Bruce was frantic. Too many possibilities were running across his mind, Dick hurt, Dick bleeding, Dick _dying_. He couldn’t stop thinking about Dick tied to that God forsaken tree, naked and vulnerable.

Damian looked as bad as Bruce felt, his hair messed up like he’d been running his fingers through it, expression wretched. But Bruce couldn’t think about anything other than Dick.

Nightwing was sat against the wall, legs sprawled in front of him, bent over with his head in his hands. Bruce crouched next to him, looking him over without touching him, desperately trying to see if he was injured.

“What happened?” Tim was saying behind him.

“I don’t know-“ Damian sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “We were fighting some thugs, and then one of them said something to him, but I couldn’t hear what and he just...freaked out.”

A panic attack. Bruce was surprised that Damian hadn’t recognised it, didn’t know what to do. He really needed to update his training.

Bruce leaned closer to Dick. “Nightwing it’s me, you’re having a panic attack. You’re safe. Can I touch you?”

Dick was trembling, gasping in desperate breaths, clenching his fingers into his hair, but he nodded jerkily. Bruce carefully reached up to untangle his fingers, rubbing across his palms gently, and then eased them away from his face, leaning him back against the wall.

“Breathe with me Dick,” he placed one of Dick’s hands to his chest, hoping he could feel the deliberate breaths through Batman’s armour. Behind him Damian made a startled noise at the lack of a code name, but Bruce didn’t spare it a thought. Dick grabbed onto him with his other hand, grip almost painfully tight.

“You’re doing so well, that’s it, just focus on your breathing.”

Slowly, Dick’s breathing started to even out, colour returning to his face. He let go of Bruce to run a shaky hand over his face.

“I’m good B,” he said, pushing away from the wall and rising with none of his usual grace.

“What happened?” He didn’t want to push him, not so soon after a panic attack, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to know what had triggered Dick so that they could avoid it in the future.

Dick’s gaze flicked over to where Damian was standing, his mouth twisting unhappily. “It was nothing B, just- I’m fine. Can we drop it?”

He wanted to say no. If Dick was going to start having panic attacks during patrol then it was something they needed to address. But he hesitated, his own gaze falling on Damian. They could talk about this later, out of the open.

“Alright, it’s quiet tonight anyway, why don’t we call it a night and head home.”

Both Dick and Damian looked like they wanted to argue. Bruce could feel a headache coming on. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“Come on guys,” Tim said quietly, “I don’t know about you but I’m pretty beat.”

Bruce could have cried with relief when they relented. He even managed to wrangle Dick into coming back in the Batmobile whilst Red Robin took his bike - which was a miracle. The panic attack must have really taken it out of him.

The drive home was silent, tense. Bruce couldn’t stop thinking about the last time Dick had been in the car, after Bruce had picked him up. He clenched his jaw tight. Dick was fine, well as fine as he could be.

Dick headed straight for the showers when they got back. Tim shot Bruce a look and then hurried Damian upstairs to take their own showers. Bruce sank down into the batcomputer chair, dropping his face into his hands.

What a mess. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help Dick. He wanted to take him off patrol, wanted to keep him safe and sound at the manor. But Dick was an adult, a vigilante in his own right, and Bruce didn’t have the power to bench him anymore. Trying to would probably only drive Dick away. He rubbed the back of his neck where his muscles were starting to ache. God he was getting too old for this.

He needed to find out what that thug had said. If he knew what had caused the panic attack then maybe he could find a way to minimise the chance of it happening again, or at the least, he’d get a better insight into how Dick was doing.

He pushed himself out of the chair. The sound of the shower had stopped. Dick had probably snuck past him whilst Bruce was lost in thought. He hoped that he was getting some much needed rest.

Bruce changed out of his suit quickly and hurried upstairs himself. Dick wasn’t the only one who could do with a rest. He’d talk to him tomorrow, once the dust had settled a little.

As he passed one of the sitting rooms, voices drifted out into the hallway. Bruce froze. Who would still be up now? Maybe Tim? The voices rose in volume. An argument.

He pushed the door open without thinking. Dick was standing facing the door, arms crossed over his chest and a frustrated look on his face. Tim beside him was shooting worried glances between Dick and Damian, who was the cause of all the noise. He was red faced and shouting.

They all turned to look at Bruce as he stepped into the room. It was...unnerving.

“What’s going on?”

“I demand to know what you’ve all been hiding from me!” Damian shouted. He was angry, but Bruce could tell that underneath he was a little hurt. He’d obviously realised that something had happened and that they were keeping it from him. Bruce sighed. He really didn’t need this now.

“Damian-“

“I’m not a child! Whatever it is you should just tell me.”

“It’s none of your business!” Dick snapped. Bruce was surprised by the heat in his voice. Bruce was no stranger to Dick’s temper, both of them were too hot-headed for their own good, but to hear it aimed at Damian had Bruce faltering.

“It is my business! It’s obviously affecting you Grayson, if we’re to patrol together then I should know about it!”

Bruce could tell that Dick was getting angry. Damian must have seen it too - the furrowing of his brows, his mouth pinching - but he barrelled on ahead in typical Damian fashion.

“Just tell me what’s going on! I deserve to know! You can’t just-“

Dick exploded. “I WAS RAPED!” He screamed, whirling on Damian. Damian’s eyes went wide, the colour draining from his face, but Dick wasn’t finished. “Slade Wilson raped me! Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now you piece of-“

“Dick,” Tim’s voice was surprisingly calm as he stepped in front of Damian. Dick froze, his mouth snapping shut. He shot Tim a desperate look, his face pained, and then he was striding out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Are you okay?” Tim asked, gently. Damian blinked at him for a moment, looking surprisingly owlish and achingly young, before setting his jaw.

“Why did none of you tell me that Wilson- that he -“

“It wasn’t our place to say,” Tim said. His expression hardened. “You owe Dick an apology. You shouldn’t have pushed him like that.”

Damian scowled but, surprisingly, he didn’t argue. He must be shaken by what just happened. He was close to Dick, had formed a bond with him, looked up to him, and Dick had always been patient with him. Having Dick scream at him couldn’t have been easy.

For a moment Bruce was torn. He wanted to go after Dick, to make sure he was alright, but he wasn’t sure if Dick would want that. He wanted to go to Damian as well, to take him into his arms and tell him it was going to be okay, but he doubted Damian would welcome his attempts at comfort. God what Bruce wouldn’t give to take away his sons’ pain.

“Go to bed Damian,” Tim said with a sigh. “I’ll talk to Dick.”

Bruce felt a pang in his chest. Tim sounded exhausted, and far more mature than his years. He was taking on too much responsibility. Responsibility that should be Bruce’s.

Damian huffed, but he slipped out of the room past Bruce without another word. Bruce tried to catch his eyes as he passed him, but Damian kept his gaze fixed on the floor, his mouth turned down in a frown.

Tim made to pass him as well, but Bruce caught him gently by the arm. “Let me talk to him.”

A wry smile as Tim shook his head at him. “No offense Bruce, but I’m not sure that’s the best idea right now.”

“Please, Tim.”

Tim looked surprised and- okay Bruce could say please if he had to, he’d been raised by Alfred after all. Tim visibly hesitated. Bruce had to bite his tongue not to say anything. He needed Tim on his side.

“Fine, just...don’t push him,” Tim said with a frown. He gently shook Bruce’s hand off. He looked pale. There were dark bruises under his eyes and a pinched look on his face. Bruce should really talk to him as well, make sure he was doing okay. There was a lot that Bruce needed to do. For now, Dick was his priority.

He let Tim go, bringing a hand up to rub across his temples. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. Really, he just wanted to go to bed, but it seemed like this conversation wasn’t going to wait.

Hoping that Dick had gone to his room, he knocked gently, sighing in relief when the door opened. Dick peered around the doorway, his face pale. His eyes were red and slightly puffy, like he’d been crying. Bruce’s chest felt tight.

“Hey Chum, mind if I come in?”

Dick just looked at him for a long moment, and Bruce almost wished that he’d let Tim do this instead. Then Dick was pulling the door open all the way with a sigh, going to sit down heavily on the bed, his back to the headrest and his legs stretched out in front of him.

“What do you want Bruce?”

“I just want to...talk.” The words sounded so flat, too small for how Bruce was feeling.

“Talk,” Dick scoffed. “I don’t want to talk. I’m fine.”

He didn’t look fine, but Bruce didn’t think bringing that up now would do him any favours. He shut the door and made his own way over to the bed. Dick pulled his feet up towards his chest to make room for him and the image of it was so similar to how he’d been sitting when Bruce had found him tied to that tree, that his breath caught in his throat.

He perched on the mattress, looking down at his hands instead of at Dick. Now that he was here, he was at a loss for words. He didn’t know what to say to make this better, didn’t think there was anything he _could_ say.

“Bruce,” Dick said, softer. “I really am fine, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“You kind of went off on Damian there.”

Dick grimaced, guilt creeping onto his face. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll be fine, you just surprised him mostly, I think.”

“I shouldn’t have shouted at him,” Dick said, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“Maybe, but he shouldn’t have pushed either,” Bruce said. “You’re allowed to have secrets Dick, you don’t owe anybody your story.”

Dick’s face crumpled. He bent his head over his knees so that Bruce could no longer see his expression. “I wish nobody knew.” He whispered.

Bruce reached over and, ever so carefully, lay his hand across the back of Dick’s neck. “I’m sorry.” The words were woefully inadequate, and yet they were all Bruce had to give. He _was_ sorry. Sorry that he hadn’t managed to keep it just between them. Sorry that Dick felt he needed to hide it in the first place. Sorry that it had _happened_ in the first place. Sorry that Bruce couldn’t say some magic words and just take the pain away.

Dick let out a sob, and Bruce’s heart broke all over again. “I should be better than this. I shouldn’t have gotten captured, or let Slade- let him-” Dick took a watery breath in, “I shouldn’t be falling apart like this.”

Bruce couldn’t help himself. He eased Dick up gently and pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms around him. “Don’t. Don’t ever say that Dick. None of this was your fault. You don’t have to be strong all the time, nobody would blame you for being upset.” He hesitated. “I’m proud of you son.”

Dick was frozen for an agonisingly long moment, before he buried his face into Bruce’s chest, his arms coming up to squeeze around his middle.

“Sorry for being such a mess B.”

“Don’t be silly.” He crushed Dick tighter. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held Dick as he cried, couldn’t remember the last time Dick had come to him for comfort.

After a while, DIck pulled away, wiping a shaky hand across his cheeks. Bruce didn’t want to push him, but if they were having this conversation now, he needed to bring up the panic attack.

“What happened tonight Dick, on patrol?”

Dick grimaced, a hand coming up to absentmindedly scratch at a gauze pad on his neck. “It was nothing.”

“It obviously wasn’t nothing. I need you to tell me so that we can make sure it doesn’t happen again. You can’t be having panic attacks in the middle of patrol.”

Dick scowled heavily, shifting further away from Bruce. He was clearly unhappy. “It was just something the thug said. I doubt it’ll happen again.”

“What did he say?”

“What happened to you don’t owe anybody your story,” he snapped, glaring. Bruce winced. Okay, so he _had_ said that, and he’d meant it. But this was different. This could be a matter of life or death. If Robin hadn’t been there, or if Dick had been facing a more dangerous opponent… Bruce shuddered. He couldn’t let Dick be vulnerable like that. He needed to know.

“Dick, this is serious. If you’re compromised during patrol-”

“I wasn’t compromised!” Dick spat, suddenly furious. “I handled it! Robin handled it. We were fine.”

“Dick please.”

Dick deflated, like someone had let all the air out of him. He turned away from Bruce, his mouth twisting unhappily. “He called me pretty bird.”

Bruce had to lean close to hear the words. Something twisted, sharp and vicious, in his guts. Dick looked like he was going to be sick, his hand covering his mouth, eyes wide, but he kept talking as though he couldn’t stop himself, the words muffled.

“It’s what Slade called me when- when he.”

Bruce was just fast enough grabbing the bin to prevent Dick from throwing up all over his bed. Dick was shaking, his hands gripping the edges of the bin hard enough to blanche his knuckles, as he vomited. Bruce brushed his hair back from his face, feeling the sweaty heat of his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, uselessly. His own stomach was turning queasily. He almost wished that he hadn’t brought it up. There wasn’t much they could do about it, after all, they couldn’t control what other people said. Hopefully it had been a one off, more of a snide comment from a sick individual, than a catching nickname. God, Bruce hoped so.

When Dick leaned back Bruce took the bin from him, setting it far enough away that the acid smell of vomit wasn’t overpowering.

“Are you happy now?” Dick said bitterly.

“No.” No he wasn’t happy. He was the furthest thing from happy. His son had just thrown up after remembering his _rape_ and it was Bruce’s fault. “I’m sorry Dick.”

Dick twitched, his face scrunching up before he tipped sideways on the bed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He covered his face with his hands.

“Go away Bruce.”

Bruce hesitated, but he’d pushed Dick far enough tonight. “Alright, Chum, I’ll see you in the morning.”

He took the bin with him as he left, the sour stench of it matching his own mood. He had to do better. For Dick. And if he ever saw Slade Wilson again, the other man would regret ever laying a hand on his son.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post! There were so many different ways I thought this chapter could have gone and it just wasn’t coming as easily as the first two. Also it turned out a little longer than I expected haha  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy and thank you everyone for leaving so many lovely comments on the last chapter :)

The worst part, Dick thought, was that everybody _knew_. His stay at the manor was full of pitying looks and heart to hearts. Honestly, if one more person asked him how he was doing he was going to scream.

He knew they all meant well but he couldn’t take it. He’d only made it a week before he’d escaped to Bludhaven. Bruce had gotten that sad, kind of constipated look on his face that meant he wasn’t happy about it but knew that Dick wasn’t going to change his mind. Usually that look was the prelude to a huge, blowout fight. He’d almost wanted it to happen. Bruce had been moping around the manor for the entire week, shooting Dick sad guilty looks and stumbling through pushy, emotional talks that left Dick feeling drained. If they had a fight, maybe Dick could let off some steam.

But while Bruce hadn’t been happy, he also hadn’t stopped him. In fact, everybody seemed to be respecting his wish for privacy because none of the bats had shown up at his apartment yet. Which was why it was such a surprise when Red Hood climbed in through his window, takeaway bags clutched in his hand.

“Hey Wing,” he said in his deep metallic Red Hood voice. “Room for a little one?”

Dick scowled. “What are you doing here Hood?”

“What I can’t drop in to say hi?”

Sure, Jason had slowly been becoming more and more a part of the family again. He wasn’t killing - that they knew of - and he was cooperating on cases. He was even being nice - occasionally. But despite that, Dick didn’t think they were at the stage where Jason just stopped by for a chat. It was obvious he wanted something.

Dick was pretty sure that no one had told Jason about his... situation either. So it was something unrelated. Which was a relief. He could do with a distraction at the moment. And it would be nice to talk to someone who wouldn’t get that sad woe is Dick expression on his face. But Dick couldn’t give it to him that easily.

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “What are you really after?”

Jason didn’t reply straight away, dumping the bags out and spilling cardboard boxes and plastic cutlery across the table. Slumping down into Dick’s rickety wooden chair, he pressed under the hinge of his jaw and the helmet opened with a hiss - which Dick was convinced he’d just added in for the dramatics. He balanced the helmet carefully on his lap and pulled one of the boxes towards him, making a pleased noise at whatever was inside. The smell drifted over and Dick’s mouth immediately watered. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something that wasn’t instant noodles. It couldn't be good for him.

“Gotta love Chow Mein,” Jason said around a mouthful, and Dick wasn’t sure if he’d ever see Chow Mein the same again. He gestured towards the other boxes with his fork, flicking stray noodles across the woodtop. “Help yourself Dickface.”

Dick sighed, rubbing at his temples, but he dropped himself down into the only other chair at the table and grabbed himself what looked to be sweet and sour chicken balls. His stomach growled approvingly.

“So, you were working on the Glitter case right?” Jason said, chewing noisily. Dick _had_ been working on that case, before the whole Slade business. He’d let it fall to the wayside a bit, which- he maybe shouldn’t have done, but to be honest he’d kind of forgotten about it.

Glitter was a new drug that was being shipped into Bludhaven. As far as Dick had been able to discern, it was pretty harmless. A party drug with low mortality rates and low addiction levels and an unfortunate name. From what Dick had gathered it was being shipped in very small amounts, as more of a trial than anything else. And there hadn’t been any big names attached to it.

Dick hated to admit it, but in a city as corrupt as Bludhaven, and with only one of him, he’d had to prioritise. Glitter was pretty low down on his list.

“Yeah, I was working on it,” he said, squinting his eyes at Jason. “What of it?”

Jason took another bite and chewed carefully. Dick didn’t like the look he was giving him. Calculating. Like he was trying to figure something out, but wasn’t quite there yet.

“How’s the case going?” he said eventually, his face unreadable.

“It’s not.” Dick felt oddly wrongfooted by Jason’s line of questioning. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Bludhaven isn’t exactly a shining beacon of light. I checked Glitter out and it seemed pretty harmless so I haven’t followed it up.”

The sweet and sour balls weren’t sitting so well in his stomach. He put his fork down, no longer hungry. Jason leaned back so his chair was balanced precariously on two legs and kicked his feet up onto the table, knocking a takeaway box over with his toe. Dick almost looked round for Alfred instinctively. The butler had always seemed to have a sixth sense for when they were acting up at the table, and there was nothing worse than a disapproving Alfred.

“Seems like you didn’t look hard enough,” Jason said bluntly. Dick started, his mouth falling open in protest, but Jason talked right over him. “I’ve been working my own case in Gotham. Human trafficking.”

Jason’s mouth twisted in disgust. Dick was confused by the segway. He was trying to keep up, but his stomach was aching, a headache starting behind his eyes. “I’ve been tracking them for months and I haven’t been able to get close. Recently I found a link between some of the guys I’ve been tracking and Glitter. Oracle told me you’d been working the case, so I thought I’d check it out.”

He didn’t say it outright, but Dick could tell that he was not happy with the way Dick had handled it. Okay, so he hadn’t followed up on a lot of leads. He’d put it off to focus on some more important cases, and then he’d gotten caught up in the whole auction thing, and he’d pretty much forgotten all about it. He was regretting it now.

“Right,” Dick said. His mouth felt weirdly numb. “I guess I could have looked into it a bit more. What did you find out?”

Jason was silent for a long moment, watching him intently. Dick squirmed at the look, feeling oddly pinned in. It reminded him, suddenly, of how he’d felt under Slade’s sharp gaze. Anxiety curdled with the chicken balls in his stomach, and if he wasn’t careful they were going to make an unseemly reappearance.

Then Jason sighed heavily, looking down at the table. Dick felt lightheaded with relief, shame heating his face. He couldn’t believe he’d just compared Jason - his _brother_ \- to Slade. His palms were slick with sweat where he’d clenched his hands into fists.

“Are you listening, Dickface?”

Dick startled, glancing up to Jason’s annoyed face. He hadn’t realised that Jason had been talking. “Sorry what?”

“I was saying,” Jason huffed, “that I’ve traced the traffickers up to a man named Lionel Davis. He’s pretty high up, but I know he’s not the head of the operations.”

Jason scowled, taking an angry bite of his Chow Mein. “I couldn’t find out anything about any higher ups though. Davis is pretty secretive, and pretty good at his job, as much as I hate to admit it. He’s definitely involved with Glitter in some manner, so I thought maybe we could collaborate on this thing. I wouldn’t have bothered, but it seems that Davis’ main base of operations is here in Bludhaven. And-“ he hesitated, “I didn’t want to just muscle in on your case.”

An olive branch. Jason was trying, and Dick had dropped the ball a bit on this case. “Thanks Jay, collaborating sounds like a great idea.”

Jason made a face and grumbled something incoherent into his takeaway box. “Yeah, yeah, just meet me outside this address tomorrow at 10pm.”

He fished a stained napkin out of the bag and scribbled an address down on it. Dick vaguely recognised it. A safe house probably. Dick didn’t realise Jason had safe houses in Bludhaven.

“Yeah no problem.”

They didn’t talk about the mission again for the rest of the night and Jason didn’t stay long, despite Dick’s best efforts.

Still when Dick flopped into bed he felt a little better. He hadn’t realised how much he’d needed to talk to someone who didn’t know what had happened to him. And when he finally drifted off, it was to a dreamless sleep.

*

When Dick got to the address Jason was already there, leaning against the wall with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“You shouldn’t smoke Hood, it’ll kill you,” Dick chided as he dropped down beside him.

Jason just snorted. “What again?”

Dick jabbed him in the ribs, but the Kevlar of his armour softened the blow considerably.

“Come on then let’s go inside.”

Jason stopped him with a hand to his chest. He had a squirrelly look on his face that spelled trouble for Dick. “What?” Dick said.

“Don’t get mad,” Jason started, squinting his eyes. It reminded Dick, suddenly, of when Jason had been Robin, young and stubborn but also - underneath - desperate for approval. “There’s someone else I’m working with and you’re not going to like it.”

Dick already didn’t like it. Normally he didn’t mind working with other people - the more the merrier and all that and Dick was a social person - but now it sent a thrill of nerves down his spine. He didn’t want to have to interact with someone that he couldn’t trust, and if Jason thought that he wouldn’t like it, it couldn’t be anyone good. Jason had worked with several criminals before in the interest of getting a ‘worse’ bad guy. Hell, _Dick_ had worked with criminals before.

“Who?” he asked sharply. Jason grimaced and instead of answering, pushed the door to the safe house open and ushered Dick inside.

It was like all the air had been sucked from the room. Leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest and an amused look on his face was Slade Wilson. For a long moment Dick was frozen. His stomach had dropped so abruptly that he felt nauseous, his chest tight. He tried to say something but his mouth was numb, his throat closed over.

“Look I know it isn’t exactly ideal,” Jason was saying, his voice just registering over the sudden ringing in Dick’s ears, “but we’ve worked with Deathstroke before. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, but he’s the only one who can get us close to Davis.”

“No,” Dick said finally. He hoped he’d said it out loud at least. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Slade, couldn’t see what expression was on Jason’s face. “No.” His voice came out as more of a croak than anything else, but Dick was just glad he’d gotten the word out at all.

“No? Come on Wing I don’t like him either, but we _need_ him.”

Slade hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even moved. He was watching them with a smug look on his face. Dick had never wanted to punch someone so badly.

“No, there has to be another way. I’m not working with him.” Dick didn’t think he could take it. He’d crack, he’d let him get under his skin and he couldn’t let Slade win.

“Wing-”

“Come now Nightwing,” Slade interrupted, pushing away from the counter. The sound of his voice sent shivers down Dick’s back. He could feel the phantom throb of the bite marks on his neck. He had the sudden urge to put his hand up and cover them, despite the fact that they were hidden by his suit. “We can be civil can’t we? For the sake of the mission.”

Like Dick was the one causing the problem. Like Dick was being unreasonable. “Fuck you!” Dick snarled, almost breathless with rage. His face felt too hot, the rest of his body too cold and the back of his neck was prickling, a weird pressure building behind his eyes. Slade was still fucking _smiling_ like this was the funniest thing ever.

“Woah,” Jason was in front of him suddenly, his mouth twisted unhappily and his eyes wide with surprise. “Calm down Big Bird, let’s just...take a breath.”

Dick didn’t want to calm down. He was _angry_. It was obvious by Slade’ stupid expression that he’d been expecting this, that he was _enjoying_ it. And Jason had no idea why Dick was reacting so viscerally. Before the whole auction business he and Slade had had an uneasy truce of sorts. The mercenary had even helped Nightwing out a few times.

That had fallen apart the moment Slade had closed his fingers around Dick’s throat and _taken_. But Jason didn’t know that. Dick had the insane urge to just blurt the truth out, so that Jason would be as angry as he was, so that maybe he’d shoot Slade in his smug fucking face. And besides Jason of all people shouldn’t be telling him to calm down, who was he to judge Dick?

Jason pressed a heavy hand to his shoulder, angling himself between them so that Dick almost couldn’t see Slade at all. Dick’s anger fizzled out almost as quickly as it had appeared. He took a shaky breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He wasn’t being fair to Jason. He’d been good recently, had really been trying. He seemed to be getting a handle on his anger in a way that Dick probably never would. And besides he was one of the few members of the family that _didn’t_ know what had happened with Slade, and Dick would really like to keep it that way.

“Why so angry, pretty bird?” Slade said from behind Jason, mock surprised. “I thought working together again would be kind of _fun_.”

It was like he’d been punched. Dick gasped, the words ringing through his skull, his vision blurring. He could feel Slade’s hands on him, squeezing his throat closed and Dick couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get air into his lungs. Slade’s hands were everywhere, brushing over his chest, bruising his thighs, and no this couldn’t happen, this wasn’t happening.

Frigid air blasted him in the face, startling him back into reality and cooling the sweat on his skin. He bent over, gasping in desperate breaths and gripping onto his knees hard. The air was cold enough to burn his throat and start to clear the fog in his head. Bits and pieces filtered in through the panic. A hand on his back, a voice in his ear. Familiar. Not Slade. He clung to it desperately.

“Wing, come on man, you okay?” Jason. Dick straightened abruptly and the hand fell away from his back. They were outside but Dick didn’t remember how they had gotten there. Jason was staring at him worriedly. He looked uncertain, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be doing. Most importantly, Slade was decidedly _not_ there.

“What?” Dick croaked.

“You kind of froze up and started breathing funny so I took you outside.” Jason said it nonchalantly but Dick could tell that he’d rattled him. Damn. He’d freaked out in front of Jason, in front of _Slade_. Over a few words.

“Yeah, sorry, I think I ate something dodgy, thought I was going to throw up. I’m fine now.” Even to Dick’s ear it didn’t sound convincing.

Jason gave him an unreadable look but didn’t say anything else for a long moment, letting Dick get his breath back.

“Is there something I’m missing here?” Jason said eventually. A rhetorical question because they both knew that the answer was yes, but Dick still shook his head. Jason’s face screwed up in frustration and he pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a mannerism so similar to Bruce that Dick felt a pang in his chest.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll get rid of him if you want.” Jason said quietly, not looking at him.

“I thought you said he was our only chance at getting to Davis?”

“There’ll be another way.”

Probably, but also probably not in the time frame they had. Jason wouldn’t have taken working with Slade lightly, he’d obviously thought through all of the options, and chosen the best path.

“No, it’s okay. We need him.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth. He must have made some sort of expression because Jason’s face became even more unhappy. Something Dick hadn’t thought possible.

“If you want to bail I understand,” Jason said, as if Dick could leave now that he knew Jason was working with Slade. The thought of Deathstroke getting his hands on Jason filled his stomach with horror, his heart beating desperately against his ribs. No way was he leaving his little brother alone with him.

“I’m fine Jay, I can handle it.”

Jason looked sceptical but he didn’t push. Jason was good like that, he didn’t pick in the same way that Bruce did, or even that Dick would have had the tables been turned.

“If you’re sure,” he said instead. Dick didn’t reply, but Jason didn’t seem to expect one. Dick brushed his hands across his thighs, feeling the thick material of his suit beneath his fingertips. He was fine. This wasn’t like last time, it wouldn’t be like last time.

Jason opened the door for him, which in another situation Dick would have teased him for mercilessly. As it was, his focus was caught entirely by the mercenary in the kitchen.

Slade hadn’t moved the entire time they’d been outside. His eye fell on Dick immediately, skimming over the planes of his suit. Dick shuddered but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t afford to show any weakness.

“Alright,” Jason said, stepping up to Dick’s side. “So what have we got?”

Not a lot was the answer. Whoever the mysterious head was, they were pretty elusive. All they had going for them was Davis. They needed to get close to him, to find out what he knew, and for that they needed Slade - as much as Dick hated to admit it. Davis was notoriously wary of strangers. There were few people he trusted, and even fewer that he invited into his confidence. Slade had worked for him before. Several times. He had acted as a bodyguard for Davis, so it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for him to reprise the role. And supposedly Davis trusted Slade’s judgement enough that he could bring Jason and Dick in as added security.

Dick wasn’t convinced. It wasn’t much of a plan to start with, and what little they had relied heavily on Slade not fucking them over. Before everything had happened, Dick wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Slade wouldn’t be helping them in the first place if there wasn’t something in it for him, and generally if his interests lined up with theirs then he could be a fairly solid ally.

Now though. He wasn’t sure. Through the whole meeting Deathstroke had been nothing but professional and mission focused. He hadn’t tried fucking with Dick again, hadn’t even slipped in any snide comments or heated looks. But Dick couldn’t trust him. Not after what he’d done.

And being in the same room as him was _hard_. Every time he moved Dick tensed, every time he spoke it was like nails down Dick’s spine. At one point Slade had smiled at something Jason said and it had looked just like the smile he’d given Dick as he pressed in against him.

He could have cried when they finally called it a night. He was exhausted, the thin thread of his control stretched almost to breaking point. As soon as the mercenary was out of the room, Dick felt like a weight was lifted from his chest, almost light headed with relief.

Jason was watching him critically, his brows furrowed, and Dick pasted on what he hoped was a convincing smile.

“You sure you’re alright with this?” Jason asked as they packed up.

“Yeah Jay, it’s fine.”

Jason didn’t look convinced but he let Dick leave without saying anything else. By the time Dick made it back to his apartment his hands were shaking. Turning the water to hot, he scrubbed himself down in the shower, quick and efficient, and then went straight to bed, tugging the duvet up over his head.

He curled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his hands around his ankles. No metal beneath his touch. He could move, he wasn’t stretched out and chained down. Helpless.

He was fine.

*

The mission was progressing much faster than Dick would like. Jason had gotten word of another shipment of people being trafficked out of the US. They desperately needed to find out who the head was and shut the operation down.

Honestly, Dick would like more time. More time to plan, more time for backups, more time to work out if Slade was going to screw them over. But here they were, disguised as bodyguards, stood at attention whilst Lionel Davis gave them their orders.

“This is an important meeting,” Davis was saying. That’s what they were relying on. One of the other men that Jason had linked to the traffickers was going to be in attendance. They were hoping that the others were also involved. “Wilson I want you to do one last sweep of the building before they arrive. Take that one with you.”

He gestured at Jason. Slade nodded and Davis watched him for a long moment, before turning and striding into the next room, shutting the door behind him.

“Come on then,” Slade said and Jason went to follow him, his face serious. Dick’s stomach dropped, sudden panic making his head swim. Slade was going to be alone, with Jason.

He grabbed Jason’s arm, probably too tight. “I’ll go,” he said, a little desperately. Jason gave him a funny look, but Dick didn’t care what he thought as long as he didn’t go with Slade. “You’re better off here Jason, in case anyone arrives early, you’ll recognise them.”

It was a weak excuse but he couldn’t think of anything better. Jason looked at him like he was losing his mind. Honestly he felt a little like he was. He also looked like he was about to argue, but Slade interrupted before he could say anything.

“Doesn’t matter to me, let’s go Rick.” Dick’s code name. Keep it simple after all. Jason didn’t look happy, but he didn’t argue as Dick scurried after Slade, almost lightheaded with relief.

Following Slade down the winding hallways of Davis’ mansion had Dick on edge. He’d secreted his escrima sticks into the hidden pockets of his trousers, but he still felt naked without his suit on. He’d been shamefully relieved when Slade had given them their outfits and Dick’s shirt had a collar high enough to hide his neck.

“I didn’t realise you’d be so eager for some alone time pretty bird.” Slade said, startling Dick from his thoughts.

“I’m not,” Dick ground out between clenched teeth.

Slade chuckled and Dick felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Then why swap places with Red? Were you jealous?”

Dick whirled on Slade with a snarl but he simply raised his hands in mock surrender, his expression innocent. Dick didn’t like it one bit.

“Worried I might take an interest in Red hmm? I mean he’s not as pretty as you, but he’s not exactly hard on the eyes.”

Dick had his escrima under Slade’s chin before he even had time to think about it. “Don’t fucking talk about him. Don’t think about him. If you fucking touch him you’re dead.”

Even with the threat of the escrima, Slade still looked amused - the bastard. Dick was suddenly aware of how close they were, their chests almost touching.

“We both know that’s not true,” Slade purred. His hands came up to knock the escrima stick away and then he was twisting so their positions were reversed, Dick’s back slamming up against the wall.

His breath left him in a rush, his back arching instinctively away from the pain and the cold of the wall through his suit. Slade took the opportunity to slip one hand into the dip of his lower back, pressing them together, and brushed a thumb unerringly over one of the bite marks on his neck, before fitting his hand snugly around his throat.

Dick should move, should fight. Slade was physically stronger but there were about a dozen moves Dick could pull to get out of the hold. He wasn’t chained down this time, and yet he couldn’t seem to move, his limbs weren’t obeying him.

Slade leaned close enough that Dick could feel his breath on his lips. “Don’t worry pretty bird, I’ve only got eyes for you.”

His nose skated across Dick’s cheek, lips pressing against his jaw and Dick couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. He was as helpless now as he had been in that room. A soft sob escaped him, and then Slade was stepping back, letting him go.

Dick staggered forwards with a gasp and almost went to his knees, wobbling like a newborn foal as his numb limbs struggled to obey him. Slade laughed and the sound spurred Dick upright, snatching his escrima stick from the floor and backing away from the mercenary.

“Come on kid, we’ve got a mission to complete.” Slade said, nonchalant as though he hadn’t just pinned Dick to the wall. “We can have our fun once it’s over.”

“Nothing about this is fun,” Dick growled, baring his teeth. But Slade was already moving off down the hallway.

The rest of the sweep went by without incident. Dick was tense and jumpy the entire time but Slade barely even glanced at him. By the time they’d finished, Dick had managed to get himself under control enough that Jason only frowned at him a little, his dark eyes flicking between him and Slade suspiciously.

After that, the mission went off without a hitch. It turned out that all of the men there were involved, not only in the human trafficking, but in the smuggling of Glitter into Gotham. Now they just had to find out who the head of the operations was.

Slade, once again, left once everything was over. And Dick suddenly, desperately, didn’t want to be alone. Didn’t want _Jason_ to be alone either. He caught Jason by the arm as he went to leave.

“Hey do you maybe want to grab a takeaway and come back to mine and I don’t know...hang out?” He finished lamely.

Jason was staring at him like he’d grown an extra head. “Hang out?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, it was stupid.”

“Nah it’s fine, I fancied an Indian anyway.”

Dick was almost embarrassingly relieved. There was a really good Indian restaurant near his apartment and the staff there didn’t bat an eye when the occasional vigilante stopped by for a takeaway.

By the time they made it back to his apartment, warm bags of delicious smelling food clutched in his arms, Dick was feeling miles better.

He was looking at Jason over his shoulder as he pushed the door open and so he saw him tense, as though preparing for a fight. Dick whipped his head around and almost groaned out loud. Bruce Wayne was standing in the centre of his living room, his hands clenched into fists and an unreadable expression on his face.

Dick shut the door quickly, angling himself between Jason and Bruce. Whatever Bruce was here for, it wasn’t going to be good.

“Dick,” Bruce said and then didn’t say anything else, his eyes flicking over his shoulder to where Jason was standing.

“What are you doing here?” Dick demanded. Batman had been pretty good at respecting his space so far.

“You’re working with Deathstroke.”

Dick’s stomach dropped, his heart racing. “What- how do you know that?”

“I’ve been...keeping an eye on you.” Bruce had the decency at least to look uncomfortable about admitting it.

“You’ve been keeping an eye on me,” Dick parrotted blankly. He couldn’t believe it. No, actually he _could_ believe it. This was classic Bruce.

“We were all worried about you Dick,” he said. Defensive.

For a moment, Dick was tempted to just let it go. He should have suspected that Bruce wouldn’t just let him swan off back to Bludhaven, that Bruce was a crazy overprotective father who didn’t know how to express his emotions in a healthy manner. And to hear Bruce admit that he’d been worried about him, stupidly made something warm uncurl in his chest.

But he couldn’t let it go because: “You can’t just spy on me Bruce!”

“Why are you working with Deathstroke?” Bruce said instead, bullishly stubborn.

“What’s it to you old man?” Jason interrupted. Dick had almost forgotten that he was there.

“What could be worth it?” Bruce carried on, as if Jason hadn’t spoken. “After what he did to you.”

Dick stiffened immediately. Bruce seemed to realise the mistake, his eyes flicking over his shoulder to Jason, his jaw clenching.

“He’s helping with the case,” Dick said mulishly. “I don’t need your permission.”

Bruce looked pained for a moment, his gaze heavy and frighteningly intense. Dick could hear Jason shifting uncomfortably behind him.

“You should go B,” Dick said gently. He felt exhausted, like just the sight of Bruce had drained all his energy. Bruce hesitated, his mouth a grim line. For a moment Dick thought that it was going to turn into an argument and he tensed, his fingers curling into fists. Bruce’s eyes caught the movement, his nostrils flaring before he almost seemed to deflate, his eyes pinching and his mouth turning down sadly.

Dick hated that he felt guilty. He could deal with Bruce’s anger far more easily than whatever this was. This sad, bare faced man who was just trying to talk to his son.

“I only want what’s best for you Dick,” Bruce tried, and if it wasn’t for the fact that they weren’t alone, Dick would have caved.

But Jason scoffed and grabbed Dick by the shoulder almost painfully tight. “You don’t know what’s best for anyone Bruce.”

“Jason-“

“Just go Bruce,” Dick interrupted before he could start an argument. “Please.”

Bruce’s lips pressed together in a thin, white line but he didn’t say anything else, sweeping past them both to get to the door.

“I hope you know what you’re doing Dick,” he said quietly as he left. The door clicked shut behind him and Dick deflated, pressing a hand across his eyes.

“What the fuck was that?” Jason snarled from behind him, followed by the hiss of his helmet releasing.

When Dick turned to face him he was scowling, a red flush on his cheeks. “Nothing Jay, don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?!” Dick winced at the volume, he really hoped his neighbours weren’t home, his walls weren’t exactly soundproof. “Bruce just showed up at your apartment because he found out you were working with Slade, the guy you almost had a panic attack over, and asked if the mission was _worth it_. So forgive me if I’m worried about it.”

Dick didn’t know what to say. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times like a fish.

“What did Slade do?” Jason asked quietly.

“Nothing- nothing Jason I promise, Bruce was just overreacting.”

Jason just looked at him for a long, agonising moment. Then his shoulders slumped, his brow smoothing out.

“Fine,” he said blandly. Then he dumped his bag onto the table, turned and walked out of the apartment.

Dick had the insane urge to just lay down on the floor and cry. God damn it why did Bruce have to get involved? Jason had already been suspicious before this, and now it was only a matter of time before he found out. And then there would be no one left who didn’t know.

He dumped his own takeaway bag on the table. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

*

Red Hood wasn’t there when Dick got to the safe house the next day, but Slade was. The mercenary raised an eyebrow when he saw that Dick was alone.

“What’s happened to Red?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dick shrugged. He’d hoped Jason would be here, but he was sure that he’d show up either way. Jason wouldn’t bail on them now, not when they were so close to the head honcho.

Slade smiled, stalking over to Dick like a predator. Dick tensed but he didn’t move away, didn’t want to give Slade the satisfaction.

“Just us pretty bird?” His voice was low, heated. He stopped close enough that Dick had to crane his neck back to meet his gaze. Which was becoming more difficult by the second. His heart was beating frantically against his ribs, like a caged bird - which felt like a rather accurate analogy as Slade’s hand came up to stroke across his cheek.

“Don’t touch me,” Dick croaked, and it didn’t come out nearly as authoritative as he’d meant it to.

The door opened with enough force to ricochet off the wall and then Jason was storming in, helmetless and red faced. Slade dropped his hand immediately but Jason still froze, an odd expression twisting across his face.

“Okay that’s it! One of you is going to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Dick didn’t think it was possible for his heart to beat any harder. He was surprised neither of the others could hear it. Slade laughed, and the sound made the back of Dick’s neck prickle.

“You really haven’t figured it out?” He sneered. “I thought you’d been trained by the world’s greatest detective?”

The look on Jason’s face suggested that maybe he _had_ figured it out, but he was desperately hoping he was wrong. Either way Slade didn’t wait for a reply. A heavy hand grabbed Dick by the arm and tugged him back against Slade’s chest. Dick stumbled. He should pull away, stop this, do _something_ , but his legs wouldn’t obey him. It was just like when Slade had pinned him against the wall in that hallway.

One arm came up to wrap around Dick’s waist, pressing them together, and the other grabbed at the neck of his suit, tugging it down.

Jason hissed out a startled breath and Dick squeezed his eyes shut helplessly. Most of the bite marks had healed but a lot of them had scarred. A few of the worst ones were still scabbed over, red and ugly. They weren’t exactly subtle and it was pretty hard to miss what they meant when Slade bent to fit his mouth against them, sliding a possessive hand up Dick’s chest and God why couldn’t he move? 

The sound of the gunshot was almost deafeningly loud. Slade jerked behind him and Dick gasped, his eyes flying open.

“You fucking bastard!” Jason roared, followed by the clatter of his gun hitting the floor as he threw himself at them. Slade still hadn’t let go of Dick so when Jason collided with them they all went down in a tangle of limbs, Dick trapped between them. Jason slammed his fist into Slade’s face and Dick needed to stop this before Jason got hurt.

“Stop! Stop!” He wrapped his legs around Jason’s middle and twisted, slamming him into the floor and then following him over so that he was perched on top of him. Jason’s eyes were a startling green, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“Get off me Dick! I’m going to kill him!” He squirmed, but the fury seemed to have knocked all sense from his head and he couldn’t quite get the leverage to buck Dick off.

“Calm down Jason!”

“Calm down?! He raped you!” His gaze snapped to something over Dick’s shoulder and he howled angrily, the tendons in his neck standing out sharply. “I’ll kill you, you bastard!”

“Let him up pretty bird, if he wants a fight, he can certainly try.” Like it was _Slade_ that Dick was worried about.

Dick looked over his shoulder and Slade was standing over them, his hand clasped over his bicep, red seeping between his fingers.

“Don’t fucking talk to him!” Jason hissed. His face had gone an unsettling shade of purple and he was still writhing around, like his anger was too much for his body to contain. Dick didn’t want to let him up, didn’t want to see them fight. Either way Dick would end up the loser. Either Jason would get hurt or he’d kill Slade, and Dick couldn’t bear to be the reason he had blood on his hands.

“Jason please,” he said, desperate, and it made Jason’s face soften in a way that Dick was intimately familiar with. Bile stung at the back of his throat and suddenly the realisation that he was trapping Jason beneath him - pinning him down - hit him like a punch to the gut.

He scrambled off of Jason just in time to avoid throwing up all over him. A hand settled on his back, warm and solid, and Dick hated that for a moment he couldn’t tell if it was Slade or Jason. But Jason wouldn’t let Slade touch him.

The hand rubbed a soothing circle against his spine and when Dick leaned back, Jason pushed the hair back from his face in a surprisingly tender move. It reminded Dick of Bruce and a sharp ache started up beneath his sternum.

“If you’re still here in the next five seconds I’m going to shoot you in the face,” Jason growled, and Dick looked up to see Slade’s amused grin. The mercenary shrugged, but his smile turned nasty, his eye narrowing.

“I guess I can give you boys a moment. I’ll be seeing you around pretty bird.”

Jason snarled at the nickname, but he didn’t move to follow Slade as he left, instead easing Dick away from the puddle of vomit until he was leaning back against the wall.

“Look I get why you didn’t tell me,” Jason said quietly. Dick couldn’t bring himself to look at his face, didn’t want to see the pity there. “But you should have told me you didn’t want to work with him. I would have found another way.”

“We didn’t have time,” Dick croaked. For some reason his teeth were chattering.

“I could have handled the mission without you.”

Dick swallowed heavily. He knew that but: “I couldn’t- couldn’t leave you alone with him.”

He met Jason’s eyes. His gaze was steady - not a hint of pity - and his expression was serious but not the sad guilty looks he was used to. Jason hummed softly and then his eyes widened as something seemed to dawn on him.

“Bruce knew. That’s why he went to your apartment.”

“Yeah. _Everyone_ knows. I just- wanted one person who would treat me normally.”

Jason leaned back against the wall next to him with a sigh. “I’m sorry it turned out like this.”

“Not your fault.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, but it was comfortable, companionable. Dick tipped sideways to lean against Jason’s solid bulk and Jason let him, shuffling so that they were in a more comfortable position.

“I can kill him for you if you’d like.”

Dick snorted. “I’m not sure you could. And I wouldn’t want you to,” he hesitated, “thanks anyway.”

Jason didn’t reply. Dick shut his eyes and focused on the warmth of Jason next to him, the barrier of fabric between their skin. When he wrapped a hand around his ankle there wasn’t any metal there. He wasn’t tied down anymore. He was free.

He was fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I have a tumblr at nightwang96 if you want to stop by for a chat!


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